Barred from the Red Meadow
by Khaz-Calowiel
Summary: Khaz died in the book "The Sight". But his destiny is the same as that of his pack- bigger than anyone knows. His spirit is tied to earth, unable to cross to the red meadow. And he pines for his living mate; Kipcha.
1. Death, and all it's wholesome blood

Khaz awoke. He couldn't remember anything. Except one solid fac that amazed him. He was alive. He wasn't quite sure why he ought not to be, all he knew, was that he was, in fact, supposed to be dead.

He took a deep breath in through his nose to get some oxygen through his sleep riddled body. Breathing in dust made him sneeze. The vibrations caused the spike through his left shoulder to move and pain shot through his entire body. He yelped in pain, and instinctively jumped up. As soon as he did the spike snapped off at the base and was letf, protruding out of his shoulder.

The pain dimmed a bit, but it was still intense. Khaz was lucky. He had a high pain threshold. He twisted his muzzle round and tried to grab the spike in his teeth, he couldn't reach it. He settled for licking the wound around it, and then he looked around, trying to gain memory of where he was, and why. He padded back to the hole he had sprung out of. He was surprised, and dimly proud of his adernaline fueled jump. The hole was a good three branches deep and at the bottom, there were treacherous spikes, riddled with Khaz's blood. But that wasn't what made him howl in pure, untainted fear. The cause of that, was the sight of a body at the bottom. Khaz's memory instantly returned by this scene. He saw Larka, the little white cub's fear, as she looked down on him in the pit, he saw his mate; Kipcha, staring down, with as much pain and love as could be expressed from a wolf shining out of her every hair, peering down, refusing to leave him. He saw the meat that had led him to the pit, sitting there, in it's deadly decadence, he saw the leaves fly up around him as he stepped onto the trap, and felt the branches snap under his weight. He relived it, and recoiled from it, he saw his blood flowing by his own head, and knew he was done for. But none of that, save for Kipcha's pain, compared to what he saw below him now. A wolf's body was sprawled out, impaled on the stakes the humans had placed there to kill his kind. He only needed to study the dead wolf for a few seconds; with it's deep gray pelt, strong handsome features, bloodstained muzzle and red tail. It was his own.


	2. By Tor and Fenris, i knew i was destined

Deal with it, and move on. That was all Khaz could do, was to deal with it, and move on. He was dead, after all, but not yet departed from the world. Death was always something Khaz had given little thought to. But when he did, a strange sensation of great importance flooded through his system. Khaz did not know where it came from or why, but he didn't like not knowing about it. So he rarely thought about it. Khaz somehow wasn't surprised that he was kept in the spirit realm. He always had a feeling that he had a great destiny to fill, but also knew, beyond his will, that he would not, and could not complete this alive. Like a normal wolf, he pushed these feelings aside, claiming them to be fantastical delusions of grandeur. The only other one who was to know about these feelings, was his mate Kipcha. And now he had no-one to help him. He only hoped that the great Tor and Fenris were still able to guide him.

Khaz sat in the leafy clearing, some distance away from his discarded body. He had managed to, with much pain, pull the shard of oiled wood from his shoulder. This pain troubled him more than many other things. Death, as potrayed in his childhood stories, was painfree. Free of hunger and thirst that tied them to the mortal world. But here Khaz was, his shoulder still throbbing and making his head hurt whith white light and also, an emptiness gnawed at his stomach, where food longed to be eaten. He wondered how he would hunt, as a spirit?

Only one way to find out....


	3. Hunting is easier outside your prey

Khaz had found the small herd of deer grazing in their usual spot. At first he tried walking straight among them, seeing if they could see him, sense his presence. They had been fine, ignoring him completley. But at this point, Khaz had felt that deer were often undettered by a wolf walking among them when they could sense that it simply wanted safe passage. They guraded their older deer, and protected their children, but a deer could sense when a wolf aimed to make them prey, and took off. Khaz walked amidst them, unharmed, but as he had not expected, the deer bolted when he snapped at the the leg of a lame one. Khaz gave chase, still amazed at the whole situation. The deer's runnign apttern was obscure. They ran as if they were being chased by a curse, rather than a flesh and blood hunter. They did not scatter when he lunged, but still they ran. It was as if they didn't know he was actually there, but still were scared into running. Khaz couldn't make sense of it.

Eventually, he grew tired of the run, and spilt off the lame one he had snapped at from the herd. He went by regular hunting tactics, but with his presence only being felt not seen, it was hard, and he had to physiclly nidge the animal for it to be scared anough to run in the direction Khaz urged it to.

He chased it now as it twisted and turned through the trees, panic taking it now, and preventing it from doing the logical thing and heading back to the herd. Khaz saw it was beggingin to get shaky on the leg that was lame. Now was a good time to move in for the kill. He increased his speed and leapt at the back of the deer. He found that all his injuries had healed perfectly withing minutes of taking out the itmes which had caused them. His major wounds from the pit ha healed before he had discovered he was dead, he had just not noticed. And his shoulder, the most painful of his injures, had healed up upon pulling out the stake. All he had now, was a scar and a memory. He was beginning to feel a few releases from life, and feel some benefits and pleasures of not being tied to a body. As he flew through the eair, time seeming to move in slow motion, he relaxed his attatchment on existance, and let himself seem to float. He liked this feeling. He landed on the back of the deer, but his fall didn't stop. A tight, tingling feeling ran through his legs and flowed up. Khaz gave a gasp of astonishement, and then he was running again. But fear fueled his movements, his joins felt stiff and unfamiliar, his mouth has a sickly sweet taste in it, but interestingly of all- HE HAD A BODY!

But it wasn't his! He had little control of it! And as he let out a howl of confusion, all he heard was a deer bellow. He was the deer.


	4. Summoning Howl Summons my Body Heat

Khaz eventually managed to seperate his spirit from the body of the deer. He nearly lost the hyperactive animal three times. The first, through shock when he got his own will back, the second, when he nearly gave up, wondering how he was going to kill something he went into, and thirdly, when he finally caught it, the body got up and ran away, and Khaz was left with a squirming spirit in his mouth, which he let go of in fright. But it didn't get far. With Khaz's keen hunting skills he managed to jump up and drag it down again, ending it's life in his jaws as he had done expertly all his life.

This was all a new experience to him, but he was pleased to find that the meat tasted just as good and wholesome, if not better than before.

Having finished his first meal as a spirit,he got up to wash his paws in the river and drink. He was also very content, as dring his feed, he had braced himself for nothing, as the usual bloodlust he suffered did not take him. He dranks the cool clear water he usually did from a stream near his old home, when he heard a howl from the trees.

He stood bolt upright.

His fur ruffled.

He knew that howl!

And if it was as close as he thought, then his family were in danger. He knew his family were no longer at the stone den by the scents that were faded, and the lack of noise from the cubs, Larka and Fell. But that howl, that chilled him to the bone, was a summoning howl.

It was Morgra.

And she was summoning her hunters.

And his family's trail was fresh.


	5. Sister, atop the cliff

Khaz pounded through the trees, relishing the fact that the instinct that led him home had not vanished. He dodged every tree like it had a warning scent on it, and did not falter once.

It took him little time to reach his old home, but each lope closer he felt a pang of fear and anger.

Emerging from his most commonly used entrance into the clearing that led to the stone den's mouth he lifted his head to the sky to observe the lone she-wolf atop the cliff, staring out into the dawn.

He growled, a low proud sound that hadn't escaped his jaws since a foreign Dragga had tried to steal Kipcha from him.

His muscles were not weary for they no longer tired, and he sprang up the cliff side to where Morgra stood, waiting for her assassins.

She looked as worse than usual, madness claiming her eyes more than bloodlust ever could. The scar on her muzzle wept where she had worried it.

He grey fur was caked with grime, as she had higher concerns now than self-pride, and no pack to impress hygiene upon her.

Blood flecked her coat. She stank of dead animal, and among those scents Khaz smelled slain wolf. Khaz thankfully could not pick up the scent of a beloved pack member among the reek.

She could not see him, as he had predicted, and she did not falter from her gaze, their worlds separate. Khaz knew Morgra sought to change this fact, which suddenly seemed insignificant. Khaz now saw the side of this previously constant threat from the point of view that was once the unknown. But confidence filled him that Morgra would have as much trouble finding followers in the realm he now inhabited as the one she lived in now.

Only the summoning howl would change that. And Morgra did not have the power to complete it.

Khaz must keep it that way.

To keep Kipcha safe.

And Larka, Fell, Huttser, Palla, Bran, Skop, Kar, Bran and even old Brassa.

But, above all- the cubs of his own that stirred in Kipcha's belly.

The pack did not know of these.

Kipcha had kept the secret safe, fearful that Huttser and Palla would treat her unkindly at this, for it was one of the laws of the Varg that only the Dragga and Drappa may mate.

It was more a deadly secret now than before, for now Khaz was not there to defend Kipcha against their unkindness, as he would have done. And now, they knew the secret of the sight, and how it ran deep though their bloodline. Any of his cubs could be born with the mystical power. And then all of them we be in danger from Morgra.

An anger stirred in his belly as these scenes played through his mind.

The growl ripped from his jaws and he took a step toward the haggard she-wolf.

She gasped, a soft vulnerable sound, and Khaz paused.

The vulnerability disappeared.

"Why Khaz..." She growled.

"You join me at last brother..."


	6. I am coming, Kipcha

Khaz growled, though Morgra could not hear him.

She turned, sniffing the air, and then narrowing her eyes in concentration. She opened her eyes and faced Khaz.

Khaz eyed her warily, wondering what she could do to him and what he could do to her.

He noticed her profound focus on the spot where he stood.

She took a step, small but menacing.

"I wondered how long it would be before you crawled to me, praying that I help send you to the Red Meadow."

Khaz growled again, an apprehensive sound, but a hint of curiosity. She continued over the top of him.

"I saw you die, Khaz. From my spot in the trees. I saw the pain that nearly ripped your Kipcha in half as you lay bleeding on the spikes, killed by earth as I prophesied"

Khaz's heart ached at her words, to a point where he could not even summon up a growl.

"Well let's just say I'm not going to help you for nothing in return. You and the rest of the pack owe me too much already."

She paused long enough for Khaz to get in an angry snort.

"There is... something you can do for me..."

There was a darkness in her eyes. She still focused on the one spot.

Khaz backed away, an urge to move away from the hateful power surging through Morgra's diseased mind. He moved to the side, as he swore Morgra's gaze followed him a slight.

She swung her head from side to side, cutting off mid-sentence that Khaz didn't catch.

"Don't test me Khaz!" She snarled.

Her legs spread as she whirled in every direction, desperation to locate Khaz swelling in her mind. Khaz began to slink off the cliff top, wanting nothing further to do with his sister and her plotting. But she growled as she felt him leaving, and made one last attempt to get to him.

"Fine! Leave! But only _I _could save Kipcha from her fate that plays out as we speak!"

Khaz's blood froze in his veins and he stood staring in horror at the wolf and her revelation.

A malicious grin spread across Morgra's face as she located Khaz's form, still on the ledge leading down to the base of the mountain.

She began to speak again, offering some form of saviour for Kipcha in return for demonic services. But Khaz was flying down the mountainside and it was some time before she would realise he was gone.

"I'm coming Kipcha" He howled on the wind.

His heavy paws thudded in time with the pain and sobs that clutched his head in fear, as he followed the path that held his beloved mate's scent.


	7. The beauty of the falls

For the first time since waking up from death, Khaz felt the burdens that had been absent since life. His heart pounded in his chest, hammering against his strained lungs. His head filled with pain and blurred out sometimes, turning the world before him into a green blur as he raced through it. His breath came in pained gasps. But none of these came from the ties to a body. It came from the pain of thinking that any harm or suffering should befall Kipcha.

Despite his focus issues, he darted artfully through the forest that had been his home, barely pausing to catch the scent on the trees that he knew so well.

His ears and flank snagged on twigs and branches, his paws slipped and were grazed by sharp rocks, but he dimly felt the pain. These objects were deceptively solid for the semi-spiritual realm he now found himself within.

His ears pricked up as a sound reached his alert senses. He recognised it as the river, with its two beautiful waterfalls, cascading over edgy rocks.

He subconsciously quickened his pace, eager to see the scene of this as he had done before, eager to feel the calm that it brought him.

Before he knew it, he was emerging from the trees, the calm spreading through him from the lull of the waters.

But that calm was to be shattered as he looked up the river's length, and spotted his pack, running alongside, crying out to two wolves who struggled within it's depths.

Khaz ran to the waters edge where a small, browny-gray wolf lay on the banks, sodden and weary. It was Bran. The pack passed by him, chasing the wolf still in the waters. They were oblivious to his presence. Huttser was in the lead, calling out, calmer than the others, but more desperate.

"Swim, sister! fight the currents"

But his words were caught on the wind and did not reach the wolf still floating toward the second drop.  
Huttser stopped at the clifftop, staring desperately out, now only able to watch what would happen to his sister.

At this point, Khaz overtook Huttser, sprinting by faster and harder than he had ever done. He took a flying leap, pouncing down to a rock by the water's edge. The rock was slippery, but he held his ground. He was of no use to her if he fell in.

He stared up the running water, waiting for her to emerge.  
And there she came, scrabbling, around the rock that had obscured her from his view, desperation to fight still flowing off her.  
Kipcha.

Khaz began to feel panicked. He whined and flattened his ears, but fighting for composure, he reached out to her with one paw as she drited into reach from her feeble paddling. She was whimpering, but the currents were wearing her down.

"Fight Kipcha, just fight" Khaz growled through his teeth, but he could not be heard. His paw grazed her shoulder and she shuddered, limbs going limp in the water. She wasn't fighting.

"No… NO! Fight! Keep Fighting!" Khaz moaned, though she still could not hear his plea.  
"Khaz…" She sighed, letting the currents take her.  
Khaz reached out again, trying to pull her in, but, whilst he made contact, her course was not altered by his touch.  
"No…" Khaz said in sorrow as Kipcha disappeared over the fatal second waterfall.

* * *

Khaz made his way down to the rocks below, after his pack left in despair. Khaz had to know. He remembered the nights before he had died, and knew that more than one life had just been shattered on the rocks.

His whole body was shaking, and cublike whimpers escaped his muzzle, a feeling in his chest causing him to either want to wail or die, neither of which he could do. It threatened to turn into a howl, but he couldn't catch the feeling to pursue it.

Springing down into the water, he walked painfully over to the rock that held her body, her blood staining the water a deep red. He pressed his nose to hers, tears burning in his eyes that, as a wolf, he could not release.

She didn't look peaceful, and why should she, when she had been taken in such a brutal way? She looked like she was still in pain, as though for each of Khaz's cubs that she bore, she had died again. The feeling intensified, and Khaz found it hard to breathe, but knew that death would not be a mercy to follow.

If Khaz could find a way to tear Morgra apart for this, he would commit it several times over. He licked Kipcha's wet muzzle, tilted his head back and released the feelings into a howl that could have awaken the dead. If only that were true.

The waterfalls held no beauty for him any longer.


End file.
